


Alae Angelorum

by Astrophilla



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Fluff, Grace Kink, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Handprint Kink, M/M, Mild Gore, Possessive Castiel, Season/Series 05, Top Castiel, Torture, True Mates, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrophilla/pseuds/Astrophilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas has been missing for weeks, and it's driving Dean crazy. </p>
<p>(Wherein the angel is held captive, and the hunter jumps in headfirst to save him. An exercise in gratuitous angel-mate kink and fluff with a small side of angst.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunshinewinchesters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinewinchesters/gifts).



> Thanks to my darling sunshinewinchesters for the prompt and the betaing, it's been an honor :) I'm very lucky to have made such an awesome friend!!
> 
> If you're a sucker for curse fics, angel kink and gorgeous fluff, go say hi and check her stuff out because it's like Destiel rainbows and gold dust - you will not be disappointed.

_**He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart —** _ **Psalm 91:4**

* * *

 “Stop,” Castiel gasped, broken ribs putting agonizing pressure on his vessel's lungs as his chest heaved. “Why are you doing this?”

“Stop?” The man chuckled darkly as he turned away, his muscular back all Castiel could see through the blood dripping into his eyes. “But we’re having so much fun!” With a sway of his hips he turned, proudly wielding an angel blade in place of the mallet he’d dropped on the table behind him.

Castiel diverted his gaze to the thick rope securing his legs to the chair, unable to look at the monstrous glee marring Dean’s beautiful face. That was the worst part.

“And this’ll really get the party started,” Dean proclaimed, the way he casually spun the blade in his hands a chilling sight in the corner of Castiel’s eye. “You know the mallet was only foreplay, baby.”

“Don’t,” he grunted, eyes slipping shut. It was wrong — it was all wrong, but so painfully close to the mark that the lascivious mockery was a blow as damaging as the swing of the hammer into his ribcage. Castiel _hated_ it.

“What was that?” Dean asked, voice coming from right beside his ear as he fisted fingers mercilessly in Castiel’s blood-matted hair. “You giving me orders?”

Dean yanked violently, the sharp burst of pain as his head was tugged backwards forcing his bloodshot, bleary eyes open. The bright green of Dean’s irises met Castiel’s, and the emptiness there broke his heart.

“This isn’t real,” he repeated to himself like a mantra, hardly noticing the blood running in torrents from his fractured nose over the exhaustion of hypovolemic shock. "If you feel you... you have to torture me then so be it. But this is an und—" A bone rattling cough cut him short, filling his throat and mouth with fresh blood. He grimaced at the metallic tang, fighting to finish. "Undeserved cruelty."

"You unfamiliar with the definition of torture, angel cake?" the imposter snarled, showing off his perfect teeth. His arm drew backwards, and Castiel's eyes closed in resignation once more as the man swung, carving a deep crevice across his bloody, beaten chest.

He struggled not to cry out as the blade tore through his flesh, ripping into his tethered grace. The energy pouring from the wound filled the rundown barn with ethereal light, but the way the glow illuminated Dean’s maniacal grin hurt even more.

Castiel stared up in prostrate misery. Heavens, he was so tired of this.

“Was that good for you, _Cas_?” the man smirked, letting Castiel's head loll forward as he tore his fingers from his hair. “Because it was really good for me.”

"It's not real," he reminded himself, every rasping breath burning his wrung out vessel. "It's not Dean. It's not real."

A weary sigh rang out through the desolate building, and the sudden change in air pressure around Castiel forced him to lift his head. "Of course it is, brother."

"Michael," Castiel growled feebly, struggling to sit straight and meet the archangel's eye despite the screaming pain in his torso. "Release me."

The angel shook his head, pacing the bloody floor before the chair Castiel was bound to. “You know I won’t, not until we’re finished. What’s the point in still asking?”

Castiel grit his teeth. "What denotes 'finished', when I'm dead?"

Michael smiled apathetically, but otherwise disregarded his words.

“How’s your vessel holding up, hm? Is it time to heal you back up and start over again?" The archangel wandered closer, and Castiel bit back a sob when he reached forward to casually press against a bullet wound in his shattered shoulder. "Target practice," he mumbled to himself approvingly, ignoring Castiel's struggles. "Looks like Dean’s running out of canvas. ”

Castiel snarled at the nonchalant words, anger boiling the scarce blood in his veins. “It’s not—”

“Him? No, of course not. If I had Dean Winchester in my possession, I wouldn’t have him in the same galaxy as you. A few more months of this, and chances are you’ll want the same.”

Castiel hated himself for flinching at the sound of Michael clicking his fingers. Dean reappeared beside him, jauntily swinging the angel blade in his hand. With a swift jab the blade cut across Castiel's sternum, perpendicular to the last and deep enough to hit bone. Castiel's vision went white and he fell slack against his bonds, the rubbed raw skin of his ankles and wrists inconsequential to him now.

He bit sharply on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming, unwilling to show any sign of weakness as Michael watched on. He was an Angel of the Lord, a commander no less, but inside the archangel's warding he was rendered all but human in body, and so the separation of muscle from bone was incomparable agony.

He had to find a way out before he lost his mind.

In the first few days as the archangel’s captive, Castiel had slipped his bonds more than once through tactics he’d learned from the Winchesters — though using friction to fray the ropes was tedious, and dislocating his thumbs to slip the cuffs was unpleasant — but the barn was warded from the foundations up; he could neither walk out nor access his grace to fly. It was futile. Michael's artificial Dean had let him run for the entertainment only to drag him back by his throat every time he broke free.

No one, not even Castiel himself, knew where he was. He had no way of making contact with anyone outside of the building, and, broken and graceless, he had no chance of escaping an archangel alone.

As Castiel swam in and out of consciousness, which was a particularly uncanny, alien sensation in itself, he became gradually more certain that he would never be freed.

Several hours — days, maybe, but for the first time in eternity, Castiel found himself losing track of time — later his tormentor’s image vanished once more, and Michael replaced him, coming to sit before his crumpled body on his own conjured chair. “I’m running low on patience, Castiel.”

Castiel snorted through a newly broken nose, squaring his battered shoulders abrasively. “You’re wasting your time if you think I have useful information,” he choked.

Michael huffed out a laugh. “I’m not under the impression that you do.”

“The Prince of Angels himself, wasting his time on a lowly soldier? There’s _something_ you think I have,” he spat out. “If it’s my allegiance to the Winchesters you find a threat, just kill me.”

Michael tsked, lacing his fingers in his lap. “I don’t want to have to, brother, really I don’t. But your affinity with my true vessel… It will put all of Father’s work into jeopardy. If I cannot recondition your obedience, you will force my hand.” With a shrug he stood, wandering over to lean a forearm on Castiel’s bloody shoulder.

“My affinity?” Castiel grunted through struggled breath at the starburst of pain, blinking away the darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision. “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“It was a mistake to select you for the Righteous Man’s rescue mission, I can see that as clearly as the dwindling radiance of your grace,” he smiled sadly, putting unnecessary force into patting Castiel’s back. “You should never have become so involved.”

“Tell me _why_ ,” he growled weakly, unable to catch his breath. “What do you mean, why—” Castiel began, but his words died in his throat as the significance of Michael’s speech became clear.

“A little slow on the uptake,” Michael commented dryly, brows raised as Castiel gaped.

“Is he— Dean’s my—?” he swallowed thickly, the acrid, coppery taste of old blood filling his mouth once more.

Michael hummed, circling back to stand before him. “And now you see why I have to put an end to it before it begins. I cannot allow you to stop this, to ruin plans millennia in the making just for the purpose of fornicating with your— _my_ human vessel. You need to be kept well away.”

Castiel was frozen in disbelief, the weak pounding of his vessel’s pulse a loud roar in his ears. They had a unique bond, that was undeniable, but he’d never considered...

“I”m sorry, Castiel, I wish it had been different,” Michael said regretfully, placing a hand on his knee in commiseration. Castiel blinked, dumbfounded.

With a rustle of wings, the archangel was gone and Castiel’s broken vessel was once again healed. Castiel had suffered the experience often enough since his capture that he refused to revel in the absence of agony. He knew exactly what came next.

And this time, he would not open his eyes. He couldn’t bear to look, not knowing that Dean was—

“Let’s try this again, sugar,” Dean chuckled, the menacing sound cutting through the silence. For a moment, there was nothing but darkness, absence, and the hot breath on his neck. And then, in a mockery of the deft accuracy of a born-and-raised hunter, the imposter planted his angel blade into Castiel’s thigh.

* * *

“Dean, sit down for God’s sake. You’re gonna wear out the carpet.”

Dean glared at his brother, crossing the shitty motel room to drop pointedly onto the hard mattress. “He’s still not answering.”

 _Castiel, Angel of the Lord, call-screening douchebag,_ he snarked out another silent prayer, _it’s Dean. Anytime you wanna pick up, that’d be great. It’s only the apocalypse down here. No big deal._

Dean scowled to himself, adding a bitchy _amen, asshat_ on the end. He hoped that if he focused on how angry he was, it would do something to abate the nauseating concern eating away at his gut.

“Maybe he’s just busy,” Sam suggested, closing his laptop with a frown. “The poor guy’s kinda got a lot on his plate right now.”

“It’s been nearly a month, Sam!” Dean snapped. “He said he’d be three days at the most. He hasn’t called by, his phone’s disconnected, and he still isn’t answering our damn prayers. Everything about this smells bad.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “No, you’re right,” he grunted, “it does smell bad. So what do we do?”

“I got no idea,” Dean mumbled. “How do you find a celestial being who may or may not even be on this plane of existence? Where the fuck do we look?”

“I— there’s a tracking spell I learned, one of Ruby’s tricks,” Sam blanched. “I should be able to find him with it. As long as he’s earthbound, I guess.”

Dean pulled a face at the sound of her name on his brother’s lips. “Well ain’t that fan-fucking-tastic. She’s managing to piss me off from beyond the grave.”

“I know, I don’t like it either. But if Cas is in trouble, the only way we’ll ever find him—”

“Right,” Dean cut in, not wanting to think about the demon bitch any longer. “Let’s just do it, what do we need? Please don’t say it’s anything creepy or illegal. If I have to spend my Monday huntin’ for the metacarpal bone of a stillborn baby...”

“Uh, no,” Sam grimaced, “just a map. And a lighter. The incantation’s in the red book over on the desk, third in the pile. She used it to find you, so I guess we just… switch out the names?”

“I hate that this is the best we’ve got,” Dean muttered. He collected the components and watched as Sam performed the spell, barely reacting when the map was engulfed in violent flames and burned down to a tiny, square inch piece of paper. The fire fizzled itself out, and Sam handed Dean back his Zippo and fished the remains from the smoking ashes.

“Well? Did it work?” he asked, bouncing his leg impatiently.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam frowned, holding the small remains of the map close to his face. “Pretty sure he’s in Arkansas.”

Dean nodded, seizing his keys. “Grab your laptop and get in the car, if we head out now we can make it there before nightfall.”

“Dean, slow down a second,” Sam said with knitted brows, grabbing his shoulder. “We have no idea what we’re walking into here—”

“Sammy, something's wrong, _someone’s_ got Cas,” Dean groused, shirking off Sam’s hand and shoving a shotgun into his duffle bag. “That’s all that matters. I have to help.”

“And you’re probably right, but we’ve gotta be smart about it,” he glowered, crossing his arms. “We can’t just run in guns blazing on this one. Maybe we should call Bobby—"

“Waiting around doing nothin’ is all we’ve done for the last damn week!” Dean yelled. “I ain’t sitting around on my ass waiting for someone to carve bits off of him and Fedex them to us!”

Sam gave him a knowing look, and it pissed him off even more. “Dean—”

“ _Sam_ ,” Dean growled, holstering his pistol and pocketing his keys, “I’m going. If you wanna sit this one out I get it, but I just can’t abandon him.”

“I don’t wanna sit it out, you asshole,” Sam retorted. “You’re not the only one who cares about him. I just don’t think it’s a great idea to chance running straight into Hell in a damned handbasket,” he protested, hands on his hips. “Cas is a force to be reckoned with, no low-level demon could have taken him down. What help are we to him if we end up dead?”

Dean deflated, shoulders dropping as he paused, jacket half on and half off. With a weary sigh he turned back to face Sam, the puppy eyes hurting as bad as they did every time. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. We need to come up with some kind of plan, rally the troops. I’ll get Bobby on the phone, you find out where…” he trailed off, grabbing the singed scrap of map from the desk and squinting to read the small letters, “ _Enola_ is.”

Sam flashed him a grateful smile, and Dean had to look away, crossing the motel room to find his phone.

“Enola’s fifty miles north of Little Rock,” Sam declared, bent over his laptop once more. “Going by what’s left of the map, he’s somewhere near Cardin Circle, I think. Pretty rural, but there are a few rundown places along the road, according to the satellite.”

Dean came up behind him, peering at the marker Sam pointed to on the screen. “Cardin Circle, Bumfuck, Arkansas. Fifty miles out of Little Rock. Got it.”

“Did Bobby not answer?” Sam asked, changing tabs. “Dean?” he called out when he got no response, twisting on his chair to face him. The second he had a clear vantage point, Dean remorselessly swung a calculated right hook into his brother’s jaw, hardly wincing at the crash when Sam collapsed onto the desk.

“Sorry, Sammy,” he muttered, cuffing Sam’s deadweight leg to the bolted-down table, “I’m not putting you in danger too.”

He knew his brother would come around and get himself out of the cuffs in no time, but at least he’d given himself a decent head start. Sam was going to have one hell of a mark, that was for sure, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. He was doing the right thing. All he could think about was hauling ass and getting to Arkansas before fuck knows what happened to Cas. He snatched up his duffle and jacket, locking the door firmly behind him, not a second to waste. Dean tore out of the tiny parking lot as quickly as his Baby would take him, fists clenched so tightly on the wheel that his knuckles were white. God, was whoever had the angel going to regret it.

 _If you can hear me, Cas,_ he tried one last time, _hold on. I’m coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking it out! Updates will be posted every other day until complete -- hope to see you again on Monday :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful sunshinewinchesters <3

There were no windows, the planks of the walls were tightly sealed and the doors were thick and heavy. Not even the faintest slither of light made it into the barn, for Castiel to at least gauge whether it was night or day.

The rope around his ankles had chafed right through his skin again. He supposed he was grateful that Michael continued to heal his vessel before infection crept in; his abilities were restricted but his senses were still acute. Having to sit in a room filled with the stench of decay might have pushed him over the edge.

Michael was doing everything else in his power to encourage it. When his conjured torturer’s latest round had failed to break him from his vow of silence, the archangel had reached into a pocket dimension and throttled Castiel’s wings, dragging them into a visible manifestation for the image of Dean to work with. As the appendages hung heavy and limp at his back, Castiel cursed himself for not making more of his corporal punishment when he’d had the chance.

If the attack on his wings wasn’t shattering enough, Dean’s taunts became far more barbed than they had been before Michael’s revelation. Each one carried as much sting as the blade in his flesh.

“You’re filthy,” Dean snarled in his face, “dirty and broken, it’s disgusting. What kind of warrior are you?” he laughed humorlessly, the bruising death-grip on his jaw preventing Castiel from looking away no matter how desperately he yearned to. “When you can’t even protect yourself, how can you even begin to imagine protecting your mate?”

Castiel fought back against the foreign sensation of water welling in his eyes. He stared forcefully away, but there was no hiding it from the man inches from his face.

“Aw, that one cut deep, did it?” Dean pouted. “Sticks and stones may break your bones, but words…” he trailed off, the devious smile appearing once more. “Good to know.”

“You’re twisted,” Castiel hissed through closed teeth. “You should hope I never escape.”

The man’s smile widened into a toothy grin. “One man’s terrorist, and all that. Most would take twisted over pathetic any day. You’re a failure,” he taunted, releasing his grip on Castiel’s jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around his purpling throat. “ _Unworthy,_ ” he seethed, constricting Castiel’s airflow until he balanced on the knife edge of unconsciousness.

“You know nothing,” Castiel gasped, barely able to stay upright.

Dean snorted, and Castiel winced in expectation as the man let go and casually strolled around to observe his wings as they draped weakly over the back of the chair.

“I can _see_. You think you could court the Righteous Man with these miserable excuses for wings?” he asked, roughly grabbing a flight feather and pulling it out.

Castiel howled like a wounded animal, desperately trying to draw his hypersensitive wings away. Dean’s jubilant laughter made him sick to his stomach.

“Any mating display with those would be humiliating. These ugly, dingy feathers,” the man sneered, twisting a handful of the downy plumage and forcibly yanking it out, deaf to Castiel’s anguish. “I’m doing you a favor, plucking you like a chicken.”

He frantically tried to hide them away, shield them from the man’s sight, but Michael’s warding prevented him from even something so simple as protecting what was left of his captive grace. Every touch of the imposter’s hands on his precious wings burned like acid, and when hands curved methodically around either side of his left humerus, he could no longer hold in his violent sobs.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart,” the man crooned detestably. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

* * *

 The sun was low in the sky by the time Dean made it to the ass end of nowhere, as dictated by the singed shred of map. Heart in his throat, he had stormed the first two near-derelict buildings he’d come across on the winding road, frantically searching them from top to bottom, but they were both empty.

God, he wished demon-bitch GPS was a little more accurate.

An awful, nagging voice at the back of his head kept driving home the fear that maybe someone, something had hurt Cas, hurt him bad, and dumped his body in some undistinguished ditch like a dog. That he’d never find him in the abandoned shacks along the road. He grit his teeth, flooring the gas.

No, Cas was strong. And Dean was going to find him.

But he was quickly running out of road. He nearly missed the barn that was set so far back from the road, it was almost entirely hidden by trees, but the peeling white of its timber frame just caught his eye as he passed its dirt road turn off. In a last-ditch effort before he had to turn around, park up and start searching the fields on foot, he pulled Baby up at the nonexistent curb, grabbed his gun, and headed for the barn.

Swiftly he surveyed the perimeter — two large front doors, one small side entrance, both sealed shut. No sign of activity. From the outside the decrepit building seemed all but abandoned, but years of hunting had taught him not to be so complacent.

Shotgun cocked, pistol and demon blade tucked in the waist of his jeans, Dean took a deep breath to steady himself, and then put all of his weight into kicking down the side door. The wood splintered easily beneath the impact and he forced his way inside, finger on the trigger.

Fine-tuned through years of working in darkness, his eyes quickly adapted to the gloom inside; the sun had long since set, the only source of light coming from a weak, flickering barn lamp on the far wall. He blanched as he caught sight of the interior decor — every inch of the timber walls was covered in thickly painted symbols, some familiar to him, but most completely obscure.

Okay, someone knew a lot about angels, which was seriously bad. There was no doubt he’d found the right creepy shack, though. Instantly he scanned the shell of a building for threats — his entrance had been far from stealthy and inconspicuous — but there was only silence, punctuated with the faint chirping of cicadas in the long grass outside and his own hushed breath.

“Cas?” he whispered, inching further into the shadows.

Nothing. The pit in his stomach told him that this had to be the place, unless Arkansas was home to some serious angel-fanatic farmers. And if it was empty now…

Heart in his throat, he edged his way inside, back to the wall and gun raised in preparation for the slightest movement. He caught sight of a shadowed mass in the far corner, propped against some kind of chair, and he froze as his brain interpreted what he was seeing. His heart dropped like an anvil to the floor at the horrific realization that what hung over the shabby chair was a body.

“No,” he choked, lowering his gun and darting across the barn. “Cas!”

With every step, he came closer and closer to throwing up. Not an inch of the angel’s skin was unblemished, blood ran in sluggish streams down his arms and chest, and his left leg was cocked at a painfully unnatural angle, a deep, jagged tear circling his thigh. In the eerie glow of the lamp, Castiel’s skin was absolutely ghostly, the deathly blue of blood loss and hypothermia. Dean collapsed at the angel’s bound feet, reaching up for his bloodied throat in desperate search of a pulse. The weak, barely-there flutter beneath Dean’s finger tips was the best feeling in the world.

“Shit,” he rasped, holding Castiel’s jaw in his hands and tilting his head up from where it lolled against his beaten chest. “Cas, can you hear me?”

There was a terrifying moment where the angel lay limply in Dean’s grasp, completely unresponsive, and just when Dean was ready to break down and beg, Castiel jolted back to life, struggling to cower away. “Please, don’t,” he whimpered, pulling his head from Dean’s grip.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Dean gasped, eyes wide while his heart all but restarted in his chest. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s me. Dean.”

“Please,” the angel mumbled incoherently, blind to the blood streaming steadily from the deep wound on his forehead as he trembled.

“I know, buddy, I know,” Dean murmured, dropping his gun. “I’m gonna rip the lungs outta whoever the fuck did this to you.”

He pulled the army knife from his pocket, unable to focus on the way Castiel whimpered at the sight of it over the pressing need to get them both the hell out of Dodge. Shuffling on his knees, he made his way to the back of the chair to get Castiel’s hands free, but was stopped short by the two damned wings draped across the wood. How the fuck had he missed those—

“Cas, your wings…” he gaped, knife falling slack in his hand. The beautiful appendages had him awestruck, absolutely breathtaking, even torn and twisted as they were. The floor around them was littered with broken pinions, and when he realized the slick sheen of his remaining ebony feathers was a thick coating of dried blood, his stomach rolled. Just like Castiel’s broken femur, some sick bastard had crushed the long bone supporting the left wing, and it hung lamely against his lashed back like the limb of an understuffed ragdoll.

“No, not my wings, please,” he begged, trying to draw them in defensively to his body. “Not again. Please, stop.”

“I swear I’m not gonna hurt you, Cas,” Dean said, voice low as he determinedly tightened his grip on the army knife and worked on picking the cuffs tearing into Castiel’s wrists. “I’m getting you out. Fuck, I’m so sorry it took me this long,” he choked, eyes stinging.

“You’re so cruel,” Cas wheezed, flinching away from Dean’s touch the second his hands were free. “Don’t touch me.”

Dean swallowed thickly, coming back round to stand before him. “Cas, look at me,” he pleaded, dropping the picked handcuffs to the floor and leaning in to cradle his battered cheeks. “It’s _me_.”

The angel fought him momentarily, but his freed hands were so weak on Dean’s arms that they soon dropped back to his sides. Thick streams of tears overflowed his eyes, running into Dean’s hands as Cas gave in and met his gaze. The dull, stricken blue of his irises broke Dean’s heart.

“Dean?” Cas whispered, doubtfully, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the dream.

“Obviously,” Dean managed to tease through a watery smile, gently though reluctantly disentangling himself to cut away the bloody ropes securing Castiel’s ankles. “You got any other knights in shining armor I should know about?”

“You found me?” he asked, disbelief painting his tortured features.

“Course I did,” Dean sniffed, carefully unwinding the rope. “I always will.”

Cas wheezed out rattling breaths, reaching out to nudge at Dean’s shoulder. “Leave, you need to—”

The once-still air around them burst into life with the crackle of static electricity, and Dean jumped up with wide eyes as King of the Winged Douchebags appeared before them. “Ah, Mr. Winchester,” Michael smiled pleasantly, nodding towards him. “Welcome. Took you long enough, I was starting to think you didn’t care.”

Dean snarled. “You son of a bitch, I should have known you were behind this.”

Someone who knew a lot about angels, alright.

“Charming, as always,” the archangel sighed. “Would you like to sit while we have a little talk? Terribly rude of you not to offer your chair to our guest, brother,” he chided in Cas’ direction, raising his brows derisively.

Dean’s blood boiled in his veins, and he grabbed for his pistol. “Why you—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted, reaching out for his free hand and pulling him back firmly before he had the chance to aim and shoot. “Get behind me.”

“What?” Dean gaped, incredulous. “No!”

“I won’t let you hurt him, Michael,” Cas grunted as he forced his damaged limbs to stand, taking an agonizingly protective stance in front of Dean.

Michael tilted his head back as he laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls. “Oh, Castiel, this is painful. Surely you can’t care for him that much if you couldn’t even _tell_.”

Dean glared furiously, wanting to reach out and place a steadying hand on any patch of Castiel’s unbroken skin, but there wasn’t any. “Tell what?”

Michael only smirked, amused. “Oh, nothing. It’s of little consequence, in the grand scheme of things. We have, as you say, ‘bigger fish to fry’.”

Cas stood firm, spreading his arms protectively in an attempt to defend Dean, and if it wasn’t so damn stupid — the guy was standing on a broken leg, for god’s sake — the reckless gesture might have warmed something deep down in Dean’s chest. “You may have been in my mind but you have no right to tell me how I feel,” the angel growled, and Dean could only stare on in disbelief as Castiel did his best to spread his tattered wings, shielding him from Michael’s gaze. “I will die before I let you touch him.”

“Hush, brother,” Michael dismissed, and with a flick of his wrist Castiel crumpled, pinned to the floor. “My vessel and I have to negotiate.”

“Cas!” Dean yelled, darting forward, only to run smack into some fucking angel mojo forcefield.

“He’s perfectly fine,” Michael rolled his eyes, impatient. “Though after weeks of behavioral therapy he’s still happy to throw himself into the grinder to protect you, so trying to recondition him is clearly more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Behavioral therapy? That’s what you’re calling it, you sick bastard?” Dean growled.

Michael let out an exaggerated breath, like a disappointed parent. “You are missing the point. It’s as simple as this — you offer me your consent, and in exchange I will give your angel a long, lifetime guarantee. Continue to resist, and I might as well finish him now for his traitorous insubordination.”

Dean bared his teeth, beating against the invisible bonds holding him back. “Go to Hell, asshole. I’d eat a bullet before I strike up a deal with you.”

Michael huffed out a laugh and crossed his arms, an entertained expression spreading across his smug bastard face. “Hear that, brother?” he called out to Cas, who barely even twitched in response. “It must be depressing to learn how little he cares for you. In that case there’s little point in keeping you both,” he smiled deviously. “I suppose I’ll let you go, consider it a party favor. Seeing the look on Castiel’s face when you betray him, when you hand yourself over to me willingly, that will be more than worth the lost time.”

His piercing gaze met Dean’s, and slowly, the archangel’s grin dropped into a sinister sneer. “Do not believe you will continue to resist me for long, Dean.”

With the whipping of feathers through the stagnant air, Michael, along with the wards covering the walls, vanished, and Dean lurched forward with the barrier no longer holding him back.

“Fuck, Cas—” he gaped as Castiel surged to push himself up with a sudden bout of newfound energy.

Before Dean could blink he was back in the crappy Kentuckian motel, Cas’ arms wrapped around him like a drowning man to a raft. He staggered at the sudden unbalancing weight and disorientation that always came with flight, and then, like a bloody sack of potatoes, the angel collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who read/commented/left kudos, it means an awful lot :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is slightly late (for anyone like me in a time zone where it is now past midnight) but it's longer to make up for it! 
> 
> Beta'd by the awesome sunshinewinchesters :)

“Jesus, Cas!” Dean yelled, fumbling to catch the half-naked, bloody angel before he hit the floor. He wrapped his arms behind Castiel’s overheated back and knees, hoisting his deadweight up bridal-style and staggering over to the nearest motel bed. “You’re not bleeding out on me, do I need to get you to a doctor?” 

Castiel choked on a hacking cough, sprawled awkwardly across the mattress to avoid putting pressure on his wings. “No,” he rasped, “I’ll heal myself, I’m sorry. Getting you to safety was my priority.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean grunted, hovering close by to helplessly watch as the angel’s lacerated skin knit itself back together, the extensive bruising blooming through the colors of the rainbow before fading away. “You should never have flown like that. Is your mojo okay?”

“It’s recovering,” Castiel said, grimacing as his femur realigned with a crack. 

Dean winced in sympathy, carefully sitting beside him so as not to jog the angel while he healed, but needing to stay as close as he could to soothe the gnawing in his chest. “What happened, man?”

Castiel sighed weakly, and the remorse on his face made Dean hurt. “I was pursuing the lead in Urubamba, but it appeared to have been a ruse to facilitate my capture. What date is it?”

“May twenty-seventh,” Dean said, reaching out quickly, trying to help Castiel sit without further agitating his wings as they spread out across the bed. 

“Ah,” Castiel replied nonchalantly. “I was only Michael’s captive for twenty-three days. The perception of time is a strange thing, it seemed like far longer.” 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean huffed around the lump in his throat. God, he couldn’t wait to fry the archangel bastard, how fucking _dare_ he? “What the hell did he mean by behavioral therapy, what was he doing to you?” he asked, lifting his arm for Castiel to shuffle under.

“Attempting to condition my ‘obedience’ through various positive punishment techniques, or so he said,” Cas shrugged, leaning into Dean’s support. “As I’m sure you could tell, it wasn’t hugely successful.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growled, shifting closer until they were pressed flush together. “Your obedience? What, he wanted you back on his side?”

Cas smirked, the mottled skin of his cheeks and jaw returning to its natural color as his grace worked to revitalize his vessel. “Not exactly. More like anywhere but on yours.”

Dean’s brows furrowed. “He thinks you’re that much of a threat siding with Team Free Will, huh?”

“It would seem so,” Castiel stated, glancing down to observe the almost-complete reparations to his vessel, the heat from his inflamed skin seeping through Dean’s t-shirt. 

Dean exhaled sharply, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his free hand. The idea of Michael trying to torture Cas out of his loyalty to the Winchesters made him fucking furious, and he seethed silently for a moment. Something had been nagging at him though, and he dropped his hand back to his lap, raising his head suspiciously. “Cas, what Michael said — what did he mean?”

Castiel froze almost imperceptibly against him, and Dean’s frown deepened in concern. “To what are you referring?”

“I dunno, something about you not being able to tell. It was obviously about me, what couldn’t you tell?” Castiel remained silent for a minute longer, and Dean began to silently panic. “You’d better not be holding out on me.”

“I— I do not wish to say, Dean,” Castiel sighed, averting his gaze but not moving away. “I know you will dislike it.” 

Dean laughed in disbelief, carefully shifting their positions until Cas couldn’t avoid looking at him. “Oh yeah, my curiosity’s absolutely sated now. Thanks.”

“Your sarcasm is incredibly endearing,” Castiel deadpanned, and if Dean wasn’t getting riled up over the angel’s caginess, he’d have cracked a smile. 

He reached out a hand to Castiel’s face, angling it back towards him. “C’mon, Cas, you know keeping secrets always ends us in the crapper. Talk to me, buddy.” 

“You will not feel the same way about me once I have told you.” Cas flashed him such a wounded look, Dean almost let it go. Almost. Now he absolutely _needed_ to know. He said nothing, firmly maintaining eye contact until Castiel continued. “Angels… we have a single true partner — our perfect match, if you like — and, if lucky enough to find them, we mate for life.”

Dean narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Right. Like lobsters?” 

“I suppose,” he laughed weakly. “Archangels are incredibly perceptive, powerful beings. According to those with the means to see, the faultless compatibility between two paired beings is as visible in the nuances of their grace as if it was written on their face.” 

“Archangel OkCupid,” Dean snorted humorlessly. “Okay. That’s— that’s pretty weird. What’s it got to do with Michael?”

“He pinpointed me as a particular threat because he believes that…” Cas trailed off, voice so small that Dean almost struggled to hear him. “That you’re mine.”

The gears in Dean’s brain ground to a halt as he processed the hushed words.

“I— what?” he recoiled, jaw slack. “You’re telling me _I’m_ your lobster?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel deflated, shoulders slumped as Dean’s support fell lax. “I would never have wanted to impose this burden upon you; would never want to limit your freedom of choice.”

Dean could only gape, feeling oddly disconnected from his limbs. “I’m not an angel, Cas,” he stated calmly, despite the pandemonium in his head.

“Grace and souls work in similar ways, it’s not unheard of for them to complement one another,” Castiel responded, his voice hushed.

Dean fixed his eyes on the fugly motel wallpaper while he tried to make some sense of what he was hearing, hand clasped over his mouth.

“I should never have told you,” Castiel decided. “My grace has nearly recovered, I can remove the events of the last hour from your memory, if you so wish. There are no physical ill-effects of a rejected bond, you may live on uninhibited by the knowledge.” 

“No!” Dean jerked back from Castiel’s outstretched hand, pulling them apart. “Fuck, you can’t just—” 

Castiel’s arm dropped back to his side as he perched alone at the side of the bed, and the childlike vulnerability in his eyes hurt to look at. “Please, tell me what to do. Should I leave?”

“No, I—” Dean stopped him, grabbing the angel’s hand as he attempted to stand. “It’s a hell of a lot to take in, but I’m… I’m not mad at you. I don’t want you to go.”

He’d always known that there was something there, something almost tangible between them that was never acknowledged, but _soulmates_? Granted, nearly losing him to Michael had almost ended Dean — seeing Cas broken and beaten over the chair like a Guantanamo Bay inmate had torn out his damn heart. The agonizing seconds waiting for any sign of a pulse beneath the shaking fingers on Cas’ throat had been some of the worst of his arguably shitty life. He knew he couldn’t live without the angel, knew it deep down to his core with the same absolute certainty he had once reserved only for Sam. 

But did that mean—? Fuck, if he let himself imagine it…

He looked up at Cas once more, who was frozen on the edge of the bed like some dejected statue, fingers wrapped reassuringly around Dean’s own. A warm, heady sensation spread through his chest when their eyes met, and Dean almost cracked a small smile before a sickening realization dawned on him. 

“Michael did this to you because of me, because I’m... your mate?” he blanched.

“Among other reasons, yes.” Cas smiled slightly, squeezing Dean’s hand. “But I’m okay, Dean.” 

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard, look at yourself!” Dean yelled, fear eating away at him.

Castiel glanced down at himself, taking in the bloody sheets. “You’re right, I should have expunged the blood my vessel lost. I wouldn’t want you to lose your room deposit.”

“Forget about the room,” Dean snapped, “I mean your wings. They’re a wreck, Cas.”

Castiel shrank back slightly, emotion shuttered in his eyes as his patchy wings drew in closer to his back. “I— I don’t have the strength to disconnect them from this plane of existence until they’re repaired. As a manifestation of my grace, they require a substantial amount of energy to heal.”

“God, I can’t believe the sonuvabitch did this to you,” Dean grit his teeth, “I can’t let you get hurt like that again.”

“You should not be under the impression that you were to blame,” Castiel placated, his hand a grounding weight around Dean’s. “If anything it was my own negligence.”

“Of course it’s my fault, Cas!” Dean said, tightly clenching the fist of his free hand. “If it wasn’t for me— fuck, he only let you go because he thought I didn’t care about you!”

Castiel tilted his head in curiosity. “But you do?”

“I— yeah,” Dean faltered, knocked by the unexpected question. “Of course I do, you gotta know that. You mean the world to me.”

“Oh,” Castiel blinked, otherwise unresponsive, and Dean had to look away from his open, trusting eyes, or he would lose all confidence to get his words out.

“But I can’t— I can’t protect you, Cas, not like I need to, like I should be able to. The whole mate thing’s one hell of an honor, but you deserve so much better than me.”

“Yet you aren’t opposed to the bond, theoretically?” the angel asked, and Dean watched as he traced the fifties pattern in the newly cleaned bedsheets with his fingers.

“I guess not,” Dean conceded, the admission taking a world of weight off his shoulders. “It doesn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know.”

A slow smile spread across Cas’ face, and it made something ache in his chest. “You must be the most deluded human alive, Dean Winchester.” 

Dean stared back in utter incomprehension. “What?” 

“You are selfless, kind, and honorable,” Castiel declared, as if they were universal truths. “Your soul has suffered so much, and yet remains the most beautiful and incorruptible that I have ever had the privilege of cradling in my grace.” 

“That’s… that can’t be true, Cas,” Dean stammered, mouth opening and closing silently like a goldfish out of water. “I’ve done things, _awful_ things, I’m not—”

“Dean,” Castiel growled as he bent across the bed, wrapping strong fingers around Dean’s jaw and leaning in close. “You are the strongest man I have, and will ever, meet. I will continue to look up to you with unshakable faith for the rest of my days, and if you can believe that there is anyone, spanning the history of the universe, I would rather have the joy of calling my mate, then you are a fool.”

Dean gaped, blinking away the stinging in his eyes. “You really feel that way?” he croaked, not even bothering to clear his throat. “About me?”

“Unquestionably,” Castiel nodded, sincerity painted on every line of his face.

Dean struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat. “But Michael, if we— you know he’ll find a way to use this against us.” 

After a moment of contemplative silence, Castiel’s lips curled into a tender smile. “The flimsy promise of my safety is worth nothing in comparison to the chance to remain by your side, and that is a resolution he discovered will never be conditioned out of me. If you’re not giving in to Michael, then neither will I.”

Dean’s heart was in his throat. “I… don’t know what to say,” he surmised lamely, no longer able to look away. 

“Then I will wait until you do,” Castiel told him wholeheartedly, brushing a thumb along Dean’s jaw before removing his hand altogether. 

Dean stared at him, bewildered. Castiel’s bottomless blue eyes were so full of trust and honesty, and he was terrified to recognize a very particular emotion in the tender curve of his lips — something Dean so desperately felt himself but was too damn scared to embrace. It was there though, beating against his ribcage, desperate to break out of his chest. The unhidden emotion pouring from Castiel drew Dean in like a moth to a flame, and before he knew it he was leaning in, eyes wide in disbelief as he found his own mouth pressing against Castiel’s. 

It was chaste, the barely-there brush of lips probably the most innocent kiss he’d had in years, and sweet, but so damn perfect it made his pulse race. The angel melted into his touch, equally dazed eyes fluttering momentarily closed.

“Let me take a look at your wing,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s lips as he brought himself back to reality, hand skimming hesitantly over the angel’s stubbled jaw. “Maybe I can bind it, put it in a makeshift splint or something until you can heal yourself.” 

“I believe I have the strength to realign and graft the humerus bone now,” Castiel said easily when he pulled back from Dean’s touch, as if his damn wing wasn’t hanging limply at his back like Michael had tried to tear it off. 

The only sign of Castiel’s pain was the way he tightly closed his eyes as the bone melded. Dean winced, reaching out to slip his hand inside Castiel’s once more, interlacing their fingers and giving a supporting squeeze. Testing, the angel spread his wings slightly — nowhere near their full span, they’d have wrecked the motel room — and shook out the newly healed limbs experimentally. 

“All good?” Dean asked, running his thumb over the back of Castiel’s knuckles.

“Yes,” Castiel smiled, settling closer once more, the pain that had lined his face now eased. “I can do nothing for the broken feathers myself, but it’ll only be mildly uncomfortable to leave them to fall out on their own.” 

“You can’t zap them with your mojo?”

Castiel shook his head. “Unfortunately not, the new feathers will grow in quickly, but that won’t happen until the old ones are removed.”

“Can I help?” Dean asked tentatively, eyeing the dark wings that now folded neatly at Castiel’s back.

“Oh,” Castiel started, surprised. “I don’t think—”

“No, I get it,” Dean backtracked, hands held up in surrender, as he mentally berated himself for being an idiot. “It’s cool, I was just—”

“It’s a rather intimate act, grooming wings,” Castiel cut in, eyes down bashfully. “I’m not sure you would be so keen to offer having been fully informed of its significance.”

Dean’s lips involuntarily quirked at Castiel’s endearing shyness. “Well, we’re mates already, aren’t we? Ain’t that what mates do for each other?”

Castiel’s eyes rose to meet his, laced with amazement, but he remained silent. 

“C’mon,” Dean urged him, “get comfy somewhere and tell me what I gotta do.” 

Castiel nodded eagerly, turning to perch on the edge of the bed and spreading his wings along the length of the mattress for Dean’s access. Dean couldn’t help the low whistle he let out at the sight — gnarled as many of the feathers were, it was impossible to deny their captivating allure. 

“God, Michael really worked you over,” Dean commented with thinly veiled anger, reaching out tentatively to brush his fingertips over a newly healed patch of feathers. They were soft under his touch, and surprisingly warm. When Castiel leaned into his hand, Dean relaxed somewhat from the furious tension in his muscles, and spread his fingers gently in the silky plumage. 

“It doesn’t matter, you saved me,” Castiel hummed. “Incredibly reckless of you though, why did you come alone?”

Dean snorted a laugh. “It wasn’t without force, I had to handcuff—” His eyes widened as he spoke, pulling his hands away from Cas’ wings as his gaze darted towards the vacant desk. “Son of a bitch!” 

“Dean?” Cas turned to him, worry in his eyes, “what’s wrong?”

“Sam — he must have slipped the cuffs,” Dean explained, scrambling off the mattress and grabbing his phone, “I had him cuffed to the desk.”

“What? Why?” Cas asked, confusion intercepting his concern. 

“We had a disagreement,” Dean groused, dialing Sam’s number and bringing the phone to his ear.

Pick up, pick up, pick up, he repeated like a mantra in his head. Sam answered on the second ring. “Dean?!” he yelled, the rumble of a car’s engine muffling his voice.

Dean’s heart restarted in his chest. “Sammy? Where are you?”

“About thirty miles out of Enola, you asshole!” Sam shouted at him, and it was a beautiful sound. “Where the hell are you, are you okay?!”

Dean let out a heavy sigh of relief, knowing his brother was okay. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine. Cas flew us to the motel.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam exhaled. “What happened? Was it bad?”

“Yeah,” Dean grunted, dropping back down on the bed. “I’ll fill you in when you get back.”

Sam huffed loudly, the sound of him shifting the phone on his shoulder loud in the speaker. “If you ever do that to me again—”

“I know,” Dean interrupted, running a hand over his face. “Keep making tracks for Cardin, you’ll find my car a hundred yards down the last dirt track on the left before you hit highway. Drive her careful,” he warned.

Sam gave a long-suffering sigh, but Dean could tell he was already forgiven. “You’re such a dick.” 

“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean smiled, shutting off the call and turning his attention back to the guilty-looking angel on his bed.

“It was an oversight not to consider Baby when I brought you back. I will pick them up,” Castiel resolved, struggling to stand. 

“Like hell you will,” Dean griped, pulling him back down. “Sam can drive. You’re not leaving my sight.” 

Castiel turned to him, ready to argue, but something he must have seen there softened his eyes. “I am okay, Dean.”

Dean sniffed, diverting his gaze before his damn eyes started stinging again. “Yeah, well. Turn around, let me back at those wings.”

Cas watched him, assessing for a moment before relenting with a nod, and turned to sit on the edge of the bed once more, wings splayed. Dean got up on his knees and crawled behind the angel, perching closely behind him this time as he reached for the feathers again. Hot and silken beneath his fingers, he quickly lost himself in the task.

“Thank you for this,” Castiel murmured, his wings sinking into the attention of Dean’s raking fingers. 

“Guess s’what mates are for, right?” he chuckled lowly, gently removing those with twisted, broken spines and letting them fall to the mattress beside them. 

“Well, we’re not mates,” Castiel disagreed casually, and Dean would deny to his dying breath the way his heart dropped at the words. He had to force his faltering hands to continue their rhythmic movements, straightening and neatening. “Only predisposed to be. Both parties have to accept the bond for it to be concrete.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, aiming for casual but barely able to conceal his burning curiosity. “And how would we do that?” 

Castiel hummed in thought, his wings pushing back into Dean’s hands. “With an angel, I would completely open up my grace to my partner, and in return they would do the same. It’s a merging of spiritual energy, if you will — a figment of each partner’s grace would merge with the other, until an inseverable bond would be forged.”

“I don’t have grace though,” Dean frowned, sinking his fingers deeper into the plumes. 

“No,” Castiel chuckled contentedly, the sound sleepy and rich. “Though I believe the experience would be no less meaningful nor euphoric.”

“Huh,” Dean mused. _Euphoric_.

He continued his task in silence, lost in thought as the satiny feathers slipped between his fingers, and it wasn’t until his hand came away slick that he was brought out of his trance.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean asked, rubbing the slippery substance between his fingertips.

“Mmhm?” the angel responded dazedly, breath heavy as he leaned back in search of Dean’s absent touch. 

“You, uh, your back is…” he fumbled, holding his wet hand up for Castiel to see. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh,” Castiel blinked, suddenly more aware as he straightened. “That’s my wing oil. I’m sorry, I should have informed you.”

Dean looked at him with knitted brows. “Wing oil?” 

“It’s a substance created in my uropygial glands, just under the base of my wings,” Castiel explained, and Dean could have sworn he caught the hint of red in Cas’ cheeks. “It’s moisturizing, helps to promote feather sheen and integrity, among other things. I haven’t— my wings haven’t produced it in a long time. You’re welcome to stop if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No way,” Dean shook his head, more to himself than Cas — nothing could have dragged him away from this opportunity. “So I just…?” he asked, swiping some of the slick oil onto his hands and raking it through the feathers. Instantly the coated feathers gained an ethereal luster, shimmering in the low motel light like some sort of rare obsidian. Touching them felt like running his fingers through liquid velvet, and it took his breath away. Quickly he continued, working the oil through every inch of the ebony wings until every single glittered.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean exhaled, stunned. “You’re… you’re fucking beautiful.” 

“Mmh,” Cas moaned lowly, and god if the sound didn’t go straight to Dean’s dick. Cautious of the damage dealt to the incredible wings, he threaded his fingers through the downy, fluffy tertiary feathers closest to Cas’ back, and, testing a theory, ever so gently tugged. 

Castiel arched his back in response, letting out a heady whine. Dean watched on, eyes wide, as the angel’s back became almost drenched in the intoxicating oil. He inched closer, hypnotized, until his front was all but plastered against Castiel, legs on either side of his thighs with one hand firmly in his feathers, the other threading its way around his waist. 

“Among other things, huh?” he chuckled in Cas’ ear, loving the way the angel all but collapsed into his embrace. 

“It’s… also an indication of arousal,” he rasped, wing twitching in Dean’s hand. “Wings can be incredibly erogenous, when handled correctly.”

“You don’t say,” he teased, the hand around Castiel’s waist sliding back until he could reach the baby-soft, new auxiliaries on the vulnerable underside of his wing. He buried his fingers in the down, stroking and kneading, and the way Castiel writhed in his grip, panting in broken whimpers had Dean rock-hard in his jeans. “This okay, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas mewled, and Dean bit back a groan of his own. God, he never would have imagined the angel had such a mouth on him — the sounds were nearly pornographic and they’d barely hit first base.

Dean got braver, the sweeping strokes of his hands no longer stopping where feathers met flesh, instead dancing over Cas’ heated skin, fingers stroking at the defined muscles of his back only to sweep back up in a wide arch to his wings. His lips instinctively dipped to press against the angel’s slick skin, the sweet, ozonic taste of Cas bursting on his tongue. 

The angel turned his head, meeting Dean’s eyes with lust-hooded lids, and before he stopped to think Dean was leaning closer, drawn in once more by some gravitational pull to Castiel’s mouth. This time the kiss was far from chaste, without warning Cas’ tongue brushed against Dean’s sensitized lips, stroking the seam and begging for entrance. Dean yielded willingly — the angle was awkward, their mouths not quite slotting perfectly, but the way Cas’ tongue caressed his own, skimming along Dean’s teeth and teasing the roof of his mouth sent his pulse skyrocketing.

Just when he thought he was about to pass out from blissful oxygen deprivation, Cas pulled back, panting just as much. “I can taste myself on your lips,” he growled, eyes dark, and the words sent a shiver of need down Dean’s spine and straight into his _very_ interested groin. 

“Is that good?” Dean croaked, attempting a cocky smile.

“ _Good?_ ” Cas said, voice an intimidating rumble, and in a move so swift his head span, pinned Dean to the bed. “It must be the most ambrosial blend in all of creation.”

Barely clothed hips pressing Dean’s own into the mattress, he lowered his head, lapping at the oil that had smeared across Dean’s chin. He couldn’t help but moan at the sensuous swirl of tongue as it dipped into the cleft of his chin, trailing lower to lave at his throat.

“My scent on your skin…” the angel trembled, looking up at him with dilated pupils so dark Dean’s hips stuttered. “If this is not what you want— if you have any doubts you must stop me now. My resolve is not ironclad.”

Dean stared deep into his eyes, finding nothing but burning compassion and adoration beneath the thickly layered lust, and it washed away his fears.

This is _Cas_ , he reminded himself, resolute. You know what you want.

In lieu of response, he wrapped a hand tightly around Castiel’s neck, and, hooking an ankle around his thigh in desperate attempts to have him closer, Dean pulled the angel down into a wet, bruising kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all endlessly for your support, you're the greatest. See you Friday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the smut, hope it was worth the wait :) 
> 
> Beta'd by (and written for) my dearest sunshinewinchesters, I'm thrilled that it managed to live up to your expectations!

Cas’ open mouth was wet and needy against Dean’s, and this time he fought to take control, teeth pulling at the angel’s full lower lip as his hands scrambled for purchase in Castiel’s glistening wings. The angel moaned into the kiss when Dean tightened his grip, dropping his weight onto his forearms until their bodies were pressed tightly from chest to thigh, and his clothed erection came into perfect contact with Dean’s own.

Dean moaned contentedly into Cas’ mouth, legs instinctively falling open to allow him closer. His hands roamed the vast expanse of Cas’ wings and slick, muscled back, fingers dancing over the hard, walnut-sized bumps hidden at the sensitive base of the underside of his wings. The angel bucked wildly against Dean in response, sucking in lungfuls of air.

“Good?” Dean huffed, eyes wide as Castiel keened, writhing above him. 

“Indescribable,” Cas whimpered, with tightly clenched eyes, wings beating the air as his chest heaved. “Uropygial glands. Oh, gods,” he whined as Dean pressed down more firmly, fingers drenched in the wing oil. 

“Angel G-spot,” Dean chuckled lowly, voice thickly clouded with lust as his thumbs worked the swollen glands. “Awesome.” 

“Dean,” Castiel mewled into the overheated skin of his neck, the desperate, wrecked baritone making him shiver, “I want — I need to touch you.” 

“Whatcha think you’ve been doin’?” Dean teased breathlessly, keenly exposing his throat to Castiel’s hot mouth.

Cas sharply nipped Dean’s tender skin with his teeth when he squeezed the glands between thumb and forefinger. “ _All_ of you.” 

Dean let out a stuttered breath, eyes wide as he arched up into the heady pressure of Cas’ hips. 

“May I?” the angel struggled to ask, frantic fingers curling tightly at the nape of Dean’s neck.

“I— yeah. God, yeah,” Dean huffed out, each clumsy downward thrust of Castiel’s barely covered erection into his own creating sparks of white-hot friction to which he eagerly surrendered. 

In the blink of an eye, Dean’s clothes were gone, his bare skin suddenly exposed to the cool air of the motel room and the maddening heat of Castiel’s own on top of him. Dean groaned as their cocks pressed together, all barriers between their skin removed, and when Cas nudged his thighs apart wider, rolling his hips, the hunter’s eyes rolled back.

“Fuck, like that,” he croaked, a hand untangling itself from Cas’ wing in favor of palming his ass, pulling him in tighter as he licked his way into Cas’ burning mouth. 

Cas balanced himself on one arm, his free hand trailing idle, electrifying patterns from Dean’s shoulder down to his waist. Without warning, he pulled their lips apart, dipping his head down to capture Dean’s nipple between his teeth. Dean groaned at the lightning sensations the suction sent straight to his aching cock, arching his back, hungry for more of the delicious heat of Cas’ mouth on his chest.

“You’re exquisite, Dean,” Cas said, pulling back to blow a hot breath across Dean’s wet, pebbled skin, “so perfect. I could spend eternities worshipping your body.” 

“Mmhm,” Dean mumbled in a daze, eyes glazed as Cas rolled his neglected nipple between his deft fingers.

“The beautiful noises you make,” the angel continued, adoringly, “knowing I am the one to elicit them — it’s the greatest of honors.” 

His hand disappeared for a moment, returning hot and wet to leave tingling trails from Dean’s thigh, up over his hip and across his tender chest. The slick palm came to rest over the raised handprint on his upper arm, fingers curling perfectly into the shape they had forged, and tremors of intoxicating heat burst through Dean at the simple contact, something deep beneath the marked skin craving the unforgotten touch. 

“Nngh,” he grunted, head tipped back as he reveled in the stimulation.

“Is that pleasurable?” Castiel let out a quiet laugh into the skin of his throat. “Your soul remembers me,” he hummed, wonderment coloring his tone. “The way it reaches out for my grace, it’s…” he trailed off, overcome as he molded his lips against Dean’s own once more, fingers tightening on his bicep.

Cas pulled back enough to distance their hips, careful to keep their mouths locked, but Dean whined at the agonizing loss of friction. Dripping, oiled fingers danced along the inside of his trembling thigh, leaving a burning trail in their wake, but the closer they came to the crease of his ass, the more tense he became, until his once loose, pliant muscles locked.

He’d done this before, hell, this was far from his first rodeo, but— 

Cas froze where he was, lust-hazed yet earnest blue eyes meeting Dean’s own panicked ones. “What is it? I apologize, I just assumed... Would you rather I—?”

“No, I— I’m just,” Dean struggled to articulate, swallowing back the lump in his throat as he ordered his stupid body to relax. “I want you. Please.” 

Cas’ fingers stroked soothingly at the taut thigh, and he leaned down to brush a reassuring kiss to Dean’s chin. 

“I’ve got you, Dean, you have nothing to fear. You are so important, so _precious_ to me,” he declared with such sincerity that it hurt Dean’s heart. “I will never harm you.” 

Dean took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. He trusted Cas with his life. He _wanted_ it. 

Cas pulled him back into an embrace, brushing their lips together tenderly in time with the caresses of his fingers until Dean was loose-limbed and blissed out once more. Slowly, his fingertips traced the apex of Dean’s thighs, trailing lower and lower until they reached his entrance. 

Dean moaned as the angel languidly spread the wing oil around his tightly clenched rim, barely pressing a fingertip inside before retreating, teasing the muscles into relaxation. With a brush of his tongue against Dean’s, Cas inched a single, soaked finger inside, stroking his walls until he acclimatized to the gentle stretch, nerve endings firing off signal after signal straight to his neglected cock. 

“More,” he panted into Cas’ mouth, pushing his hips down on the finger, and quickly the angel complied, pulling out only to return with another. “Mmh, fuck.”

He writhed his hips uselessly in time to the unhurried thrusts of Cas’ fingers, whimpering when the angel scissored them inside his sensitive walls. 

“Amazing, so beautiful,” Castiel murmured to him. “You’re doing beautifully for me, Dean, opening up so eagerly for my fingers.”

Dean exhaled sharply at the reverent words, eyes clenching shut with a cry when Cas slipped a third finger past his tight rim, and deftly located his prostate. His grip on the angel tightened painfully, needing to keep him as close as he damn well could as the pleasure left him drowning.

“I love you,” Cas declared easily, ignoring the way Dean’s heart lurched at the words, lips pressed to his slack mouth as tender fingers stroked his prostate. “I always have. You are my everything, the totality of my existence.” 

Dean whined at the influx of stimulation, catching the angel’s bright, adoring eyes and trying to convey his desperation in any way he could. “Please, please, I need you.”

“You have me, Dean,” Cas hushed him, shifting weight onto his knees so he could card the fingers of his free hand through the damp hairs at his temple. “I am yours.” 

“Closer, Cas,” Dean gasped, trembling violently in the angel’s arms with every brush of his hypersensitive prostate. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t say what he needed to say, needed to show him the only way he knew how. “Fuck, it’s not enough. Need you inside me, _please_.”

For a terrible second the angel pulled away, the absence of his fingers leaving Dean feeling vulnerable and empty, but their presence was quickly replaced with a heated, blunt pressure against his oiled rim, Cas dropping down to press their foreheads tightly together as his hips eased forward and his thick cock breached Dean’s fluttering entrance.

It burned so fucking good, the heavy length stretching him wider than Cas’ slender fingers had done and Dean moaned, fingers clawing at Cas’ sodden wings as he writhed. “Fuck,” he cried out like a mantra, thighs held wide apart in Cas’ unrelenting grip. His fingers twisted and pulled at the tender new feathers, and Castiel growled through panted breath as he bottomed out. 

“Dean,” he gaped, caught between thrusting deeper inside the clench of Dean’s internal muscles and arching back into the tight grip on his soft, downy feathers. “So good, feel so good,” he rasped, hands clamping down on Dean’s electrified skin for purchase. 

“You’re so perfect,” he huffed, trembling with the effort it took to restrain himself. “It makes me sinful, fills me with lust, gluttony and greed, but I’ve never felt so right. I need you all to myself, please,” he begged, gently rocking his hips into Dean’s, setting off fireworks in the pit of Dean’s stomach, “tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Dean hastened to say, wrapping his legs tightly around the angel’s waist. “I’m— fuck— all yours, Cas.”

“ _Mine,_ ” the angel agreed fiercely, pulling out only to bury himself to the hilt. “Michael can’t have you. Never, I’ll never let anyone lay a finger on you.”

Dean’s head tossed on the crumpled pillow, Cas’ heated declarations as affecting as the swift, pointed thrusts of his hips, as his unyielding cock spreading him wide, hitting every hypersensitive nerve ending with ease.

“I will carve my signature into every cell of your being, write my claim across the stars until Michael — _everyone_ knows. My mate,” he awed, bumping Dean’s jaw with his nose. “My beautiful mate.”

“Yes,” Dean hissed, frantically pulling Cas to him. He was so nearly there, inches from falling off the edge, every hit to his prostate pushing closer to oblivion. “So close, Cas,” he said in a broken whisper. 

“Let yourself fall, beloved,” Cas crooned against his skin, oil-soaked hand coming to circle Dean’s throbbing cock. “I’m right here to catch you.”

And with the tender words, Dean fell off the ledge, and into the abyss. He sobbed, convulsing with the force of his orgasm, fingers desperately clawing at Cas, the angel’s name falling from his mouth in a disjointed prayer. His soaked cock remained rock-hard in Cas’ grip, but instead of filling him with the pain of overstimulation, every stroke of his tight fist, every thrust of Cas’ cock inside of Dean’s stretched rim, only built on the euphoric sensation.

“Beautiful,” Cas rasped, sucking Dean’s chapped lower lip into his mouth and swallowing his cries, oil-slick hand sliding along Dean’s shaft and twisting at the dripping head in a smooth, unfaltering rhythm. “Unimaginable.”

“Cas,” Dean choked out against the angel’s stroking tongue, eyes wide as the shocks spread through every inch of his body, like he was drunk on some ethereal aphrodisiac. “I don’t— I’m going to—” 

“I know,” Cas soothed breathlessly, working him through his alarmed whimpers. “It’s okay.”

Every muscle in his body tensed and violently trembled, like an ground-splitting, 10.0 quake was ravaging him from his engorged cock outwards. When he came, clamping down on Castiel like an uncontrollably spasming vice, he wailed, head thrown back as he thrashed in the angel’s grip. 

Bright, all-encompassing white blinded his vision — his whole body released like a spring coiled to its breaking point, a rubber band pulled until it snapped in a wave of unbridled pleasure. He danced on the edge of consciousness, barely able to focus on anything but the sapped strength from his limbs and Cas’ perfect weight above him. He felt limp, drained, as weak as a newborn kitten and barely able to open his eyes to see Cas’ awe-struck face above him, lips parted in disbelief. 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas whispered, gathering Dean’s deadweight in his arms and pulling him easily into his lap. “My righteous man.”

The angel drew him close, and Dean went without protest, Cas guiding his limp legs to straddle his waist. As his plush, dark wings came to wrap around them, mirroring his strong arms, the angel lifted Dean’s hips as if they were weightless, and guided his heavy cock into the hot, abused muscles of Dean’s rim once more. 

He whined pitifully, instincts caught between the desire to cower away from the stretch and the animal desperation to be closer, to get more. His spent cock lay exhausted between their soaked, sticky bodies, but that was no indication of the burning inside him, the _need_. When Cas began to rock up into him, his cock assaulting every frazzled, wrung out nerve ending, overwhelmed tears fell from Dean’s eyes. 

“I can’t, I can’t, too much,” he sobbed into the base of Cas’ neck, where the angel cradled his head.

“You can, my love. I know you can. I’m here.”

A strong, soothing hand came to wrap tightly around the raised skin on his sweat-slick upper arm, and this time the touch was alive, he could _feel_ it. There was something there, nudging against his very core, begging entrance behind the wall Dean had forged with blood, sweat and tears. His lax, fucked-out body tensed against the invasive sensation, and he whimpered in alarm. Castiel kept him cuddled close with his soft wings but unwrapped an arm from his waist, bringing Dean’s eyes up to his as he hushed him like one would a crying child.

“I will only ever cherish and protect you, Dean,” Castiel heaved through racing breaths, fighting back the urge to close his eyes and revel in the ecstasy Dean’s body brought him. “Please. Let me in.” 

Dean could not have refused if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t, not at all. This was Cas, the angel who had given up everything for him. What he had been missing all this time; his other half. 

Letting down the impenetrable wall that was his only protection, Dean opened himself up eagerly to the influx of scorching, ecstatic light that filled him, flowing like wildfire into his body through every point their skin touched. 

Castiel held him so tightly to his chest, and Dean bawled, fat, heavy tears flowing from his eyes as a final, earth-shattering orgasm was wrung from him, the only thing burning through the haze of all-consuming euphoria was the inhuman grip of fingers digging into his skin as the angel beneath him fell apart. With every pulse of his cock deep inside Dean’s abused hole, Cas cried out — rough, foreign sounds that were unintelligible to Dean’s ears, but they resonated deep within him, caressing a part of him he had never been aware of before and filling him with the unshakeable assurance that he was protected, claimed, _loved_.

He barely noticed the violent screams of crackling electricity and shattering glass around them — Cas’ raptured face was so close to Dean’s own, racing breaths heavy against Dean’s open mouth, that the plunge into darkness took nothing away from his fixated, adoring gaze. 

“I love you,” he rasped blindly, vision swimming as he lost what remained of his grasp on consciousness. “Fuck, I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again, you're so kind! One more chapter to go!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end! Sorry that it's a little late, my bad entirely. 
> 
> Endless thanks to sunshinewinchesters for getting my ass in gear by giving me something awesome to write, and then ever so kindly betaing for me. You're the best, girl :)

Dean drifted into consciousness slowly, the cool breeze on his face a pleasant contrast to the encompassing warmth around his body. He snuggled closer to the soft heat under his cheek, grasping at the fleeting tendrils of sleep.

God, he’d never felt so...

The velveteen cushion beneath him shifted, and he moaned sleepily when strong fingers began to card through his hair. He leaned weakly into the heavenly touch, and after a few aborted attempts, managed to crack his heavy eyes open. Castiel’s bright blue eyes were inches from his, their noses almost touching in the soft dawn light pouring in from the windows behind them.

“Good morning,” the angel greeted, his warm breath brushing against Dean’s skin. Dean’s sore, chaffed lips stretched into a satisfied smile.

“Mmh, fuck.” He shuffled languidly until they were flush from chest to knee, head ducked under Cas’ chin. “One way’a putting it.”

Castiel chuckled, the sound vibrating through his sternum below Dean’s cheek, and it was like music to his hears. “How are you feeling?”

He took a brief stock of his sore limbs in a familiar ritual, and to his surprise, the incredibly telling way his ass ached filled him with contentment, rather than shame. It didn’t make him weak, or flawed. Cas made him strong.

Settling back against Castiel’s bare chest, he sleepily beamed. “Absolutely awesome.” 

“I meant your body,” Cas murmured, fingers running from the nape of his neck, to the hollow of his ear and along his jaw with the same care one would use to handle a precious gem. “Are you in any pain or discomfort, aching at all?”

Dean hummed, eyes closing once more as he basked in the comforting touch. “Only in all the best ways. You’re the one who went through the wringer, though. Are you okay?”

Castiel hummed his assent, curling his wing tightly around Dean’s body like he was a kid in a blanket. “In all my millennia of existence, I have never been better,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead with chapped lips of his own.

“Your wings? Am I hurting you?” Dean asked, frowning as he gently carded his fingers through the feathers of the wing curved beneath them, cushioning him like a mattress. The thought of Michael touching them, _hurting_ them, made him sick.

“No, they have healed,” Cas said softly, consoling with his voice and his gentle caresses, as if Dean was the one in need of comforting. “I can disguise them now, if you’d like me to?”

“Hell no,” Dean grunted, nuzzling into the baby-soft feathers surrounding him and holding them close in a satin cocoon. “They’re staying right where they are. I always wondered what they were really like, but I had no idea...” he trailed off, luxuriating in the way Cas’ silken feathers brushed his sensitive skin.

“It means a lot to me that you like them,” Cas admitted sheepishly, and Dean looked up, his heart aching at the vulnerability laid bare in the angel’s eyes. 

“That’s a serious understatement, Cas,” he whispered, tenderly raking his fingers through the sleek pinions. “I love them.” 

Cas closed the negligible distance between them to brush a small smile against Dean’s nose. “I wasn’t sure… I’m under no misconception that they’re the most aesthetically pleasing, but they have always served me well. They will protect you to the last.”

“ _I’m_ the deluded one?” Dean blinked up at him in disbelief. “They’re spectacular. I’ve never… I’ve never seen anything like them. And you could say I’ve seen a lot.”

Castiel grinned, dipping down to press a deep, languorous kiss to Dean’s swollen lips. “Thank you, Dean. To have my mate’s approval, it’s of no small significance.” 

“Yeah? Guess there’s a lot I don’t know about angel dating,” Dean mused dazedly, threading his fingers through the hand Cas held against his jaw. Damn, he could seriously get used to this.

Castiel lifted his wing to trail the palm of his free hand down Dean’s side, pausing to delicately stroke at the purpling finger marks on his hip. “Nothing of immediate import,” he responded, the tender circles of his thumb rubbing the mottled bruising away.

“Gotta find out sometime,” Dean shrugged, giving a satisfied sigh as the warm tendrils of Cas’ grace seeped into his skin. “‘Sides, I like the sound of your voice,” he smirked, brushing his lips across the stubble on Castiel’s chin. “Tell me all about it, angel boy.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully, fingers curled around the back of Dean’s thigh where it tangled with his own. “It’s… well, the closest human analogy would be marriage, I suppose. Rather on spiritual and corporeal levels than legal semantics, though. I have always been attuned to you, but our connection, it’s infinitely more potent now.”

Dean froze for a second in anticipation of the imminent freak-out that the M-word was sure to induce, but with the soothing caress of Cas’ fingers on his skin, and warm breath in his hair, he felt nothing but easy contentment. 

“Yeah?” he asked, mulling the words over with furrowed brows. Did that mean— 

“Mmhm. I’m far from hearing every thought that crosses your mind,” Cas smiled in anticipation of Dean’s unvoiced query, running steady fingers through his wild hair, “but I can feel you now, exponentially more than I ever could before.”

“That’s probably ‘cos there ain’t much of you that ain’t touching me,” Dean joked, gesturing towards their perfectly entwined bodies with his eyes.

Castiel grinned, and the way it lit up his face made Dean fall all over again.

“You are a part of me as much as I am a part of you,” the angel informed him. “Do you feel that?” 

For a second there was silence between them, and Dean began to frown in confusion when a sultry, reverential embrace enveloped him, deeper than the contact of Cas’ arms around him, like a hand reaching out to a man who hadn’t even realized he was drowning. Dean’s eyes fell shut as he reveled in the blissful hold encompassing him, both bodily and _more_. 

“Holy shit.”

“One way of putting it,” Cas teased him. 

“That’s _you?_ ” Dean choked around the thick lump in his throat, eyes cracking open to meet Cas’ own.

“That’s me,” he agreed fondly as the sensation slipped away, leaving an intoxicating, toasty buzz in its wake. “Try it.”

With panic in his voice Dean stuttered, “Cas, I don’t—”

“It’s as easy as breathing,” Cas interrupted his anxiety, words soft and supportive. “Just reach out for me. I'm right here."

With a patient smile, the angel watched him, and Dean bit his lip in concentration. He could do this, Cas was right there with him, he just needed to… 

Carefully, he attempted to wrangle and gather up all the tumultuous emotion flying around inside him, all the wants, needs, desperate and terrifying desires for the angel in his arms and push them forwards, praying Cas would understand.

There was a moment of nerve wracking silence, punctuated only by the wind whipping in through the curtains behind them, and Dean’s heart was in his throat as he waited for Castiel to respond. 

"Oh," Cas breathed, awe in his voice as he stared, those big, bottomless blue eyes dragging him in. 

Dean frowned, an overwhelming sense of failure gnawing at him. “Did I do it wrong?”

Cas blinked dazedly at him for a moment before bringing his hands up to grasp at Dean’s face and crash their lips together in a wet kiss that knocked their teeth together, but had Dean moaning into Cas’ mouth. Breathlessly the angel pulled away, hands firmly cradling Dean’s jaw as he pinned him with a resolute look. "No, Dean, I wasn’t... my eyes are watering."

A slow, watery smile spread across Dean’s spit-slick lips. “C’mere, stupid,” he chuckled, wiping the pad of his thumb through the tears brimming over Cas’ eyelids. “Don’t you dare make me cry. I’m a big scary hunter, damnit.” 

“Tears don’t make you weak, Dean,” Cas told him, fingers skimming his cheekbones. “To feel is to live, after all.”

“Yeah,” Dean sniffed. “Yeah, I know.”

Cas’ lips curled into a small smile as he brought their heads together. “I am never more alive than I am at your side.” 

Dean bit his lip as he drowned in Cas’ eyes, afraid that if he released it, it would tremble. “I can’t believe you would have just wiped my memory, Cas,” he rasped, “how could you’ve…”

“That was the last thing I wanted,” the angel said with sullen conviction, leaning in to fit the curve of Dean’s forehead perfectly against the bridge of his nose. “The very last. It would have been the most physically and spiritually crushing things I have ever endured, but do not doubt that I would have done so.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, brows pulling together in a frown. “I thought you said there weren’t any side-effects?”

Cas exhaled deeply, wings tightening around Dean’s naked body. “Not for you, I would not ever misinform you if your well-being was at stake.”

“But for you?” Dean questioned, chest constricting. 

“Unconsummated connections between partners is… straining,” Cas hedged, fingers tracing idle patterns over Dean’s ribs. “Eventually it may have dampened my grace and impacted my health, I suppose, but I was not lying when I said you would have not suffered.”

Dean swallowed thickly, just the thought making him hate himself. “Jesus, Cas, you would have done that for me?”

“Of course,” the angel said with consternation, as if it was most obvious question in the world. “There is nothing I would not give for your happiness.”

“This right here… this it it, Cas,” Dean grunted, burying his face in Cas’ embrace as he blinked away the burning in his eyes. “I just need you.”

“Then you’ll always have me,” the angel promised, pressing his lips to Dean’s hair. 

The two of them lay wrapped around each other on the bed, Dean lulled by the soft, rhythmic beating of Castiel’s heart beneath his ear and the gentle fingers at his nape. Dean was no longer particularly tired, because fuck knows how long he was out for, but he was completely at ease, blissed out on the crappy motel mattress in an afterglow he’d never experienced before. He never wanted it to end. 

Castiel’s touch wandered over his limbs, healing the scrapes and bruises that served as evidence of their night together, and Dean almost hated to see them go, but the sensation of the angel’s grace caressing him was enough to hold his tongue as he watched, entranced.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured into Cas’ skin as fingers erased the bite mark to his shoulder that Dean barely even remembered incurring. 

Cas smiled disarmingly at him, eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks. Dean’s heart throbbed in his ribcage. 

“Can you…” he wondered aloud, glancing down at the old scars littering his skin, “can you get rid of those, or is it just fresh wounds?”

Cas’ smile dropped into a bewildered frown as he traced the jagged white line that marked an old bowie knife incision in his side. “There is nothing to heal, Dean,” he said with tender eyes, “and I would not touch a single one even if I could. The marks that litter your skin, each is hard-earned, the medals and decorations of a life fighting to protect those who may never even know your name. You are no less perfect, no more flawed than you were when I pulled you from Hell and rebuilt you cell by cell.”

Dean blinked, taken aback. “You think that?” 

Cas nodded. “You are a fierce, valiant warrior, and these serve as proof. I only hope I will grow to deserve such a mate.”

Speechless, Dean pulled Cas back down on top of him, sighing at the angel’s wings came round to shelter them. Cas settled easily on his chest, chin resting atop of the folded palms on Dean’s sternum as he stared up at him with adoring eyes. Dean’s arms wound their way around Cas’ lower back, a heavy sense of perfect contentment settling over him as the angel relaxed into his embrace. 

A few minutes later, Cas averted his gaze slightly, before returning wide eyes to Dean. “Sam is in the parking lot with Baby. Would you like me to dress us?” 

“Naw, kid’s gotta find out sometime,” Dean smirked, shifting Cas up a bit so he was curled against his chest. He enjoyed an indulgent stretch, eyes closing as his joints popped. When they cracked open once more and he caught sight of the motel room, he did a double take. “Holy shit, was this _you?_ ”

Everything that wasn’t bolted down had been upended like a damn tornado had run its course in the room. Chairs and shattered glass littered the place, the crappy artdeco prints once adorning the walls torn and smashed on the floor. Belatedly he realized that the cool breeze flooding the room was from the entirely blown out windows, and he couldn’t help but gape at the destruction.

“I apologize,” Cas ducked his head abashedly, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I thought I had better control over myself, but you were so…”

“Damn, buddy,” Dean whistled with an indulgent smile as he ruffled Cas’ hair. “That might well be the best compliment I’ve ever been paid.”

Cas sniggered lowly, and then the door was kicked in, cheap wood splintering under the force of Sam’s weight as he barrelled into the room, pistol raised.

“Jesus Christ, what the _fuck_ —” Sam spluttered as he gawped. 

“Inside voice, Sammy,” Dean chuckled, one arm tightening around Cas as he leaned up on one elbow.

Sam blinked dumbly at the chaos around him, and Dean couldn’t help but smirk, practically hearing the gears grinding in his brother’s melon. “You— Cas’—” he fumbled, trying not to oggle Cas’ wings and failing. “What the hell did you guys do? Power’s out in the whole damn town.”

Cas smiled, and Dean was sure he could detect a hint of pride in his voice as he spoke. “The combined force of soul and grace gave off an impressively large electromagnetic pulse, I’m not surprised.”

Sam flipped the safety on his gun, letting his arm fall to his side. “The what?”

“Seriously epic soul sex,” Dean grinned, heart warmed by his little brother’s reaction. “Who knew eloping with an angel would be so explosive.” 

“You only _eloped?_ ” Sam gaped once more, glass crunching under his boots as he shuffled on the spot. “I saw the room and I thought…”

“Sorry,” Dean shrugged, beaming down at Cas. “Turns out we’re mates, long story short. I was gettin’ sick of playing the field, anyway.”

“I— wow, okay,” Sam grimaced, turning away to stare pointedly at the wall behind the bed. “Look, I love you both and I’m thrilled for you, but I can’t have a conversation with Dean’s naked ass in my face.”

“Cas didn’t seem to mind it,” Dean jibed, snuggling into the warmth of Cas’ wings. 

“Oh god,” Sam moaned, averting his eyes as he grabbed his abandoned duffle from beside the desk Dean had had him cuffed to. 

“He’s teasing you,” Cas reassured Sam with a fond smile, “anilingus is an avenue we are yet to explore.”

“Gah!” Sam yelled, scrunching his eyes tightly shut and covering his ears as he headed for the door. “Stop, I’m leaving! You guys better scram too, you’ve wrecked the place.”

“You were the one who kicked the door down,” Dean called out with a snicker as Sam darted out of the room.

Cas grinned, wrapping his arms tightly around Dean’s waist. “He’s right, we really should leave.”

“Mmh, five more minutes. We make a good team, you and me,” Dean chuckled, brushing his nose against Cas’. “Always have.”

“And will continue to do so,” the angel nodded. Dean traced his lips with a fingertip, watching ruefully as Cas folded his wings out of existence, and clothed them both within a blink.

Cas pushed himself up, kneeling above him in all his holy tax accountant glory, and as the ignorant bliss of afterglow dissipated, concern clawed at Dean once more, constricting his throat as he tightly gripped the angel’s arm. 

“I can’t let you get hurt, Cas,” he croaked, silently mourning the loss of skin contact between them. “Not like that, never again.”

The angel pulled him to his now boot-covered feet, keeping them close as they stood. “Michael and Lucifer, the apocalypse, it all pales into triviality so long as we are together,” Cas declared with determination, arms coming around Dean’s neck. “You have taught me to take every day as it comes, and so that is what we will do. I’m going to grab the opportunity to be happy with both hands, and hold on for as long as I can.” 

“I... Yeah,” Dean agreed, a small smile curving his lips. “You’re right.”

“After all, there is much for us to explore,” Cas continued, a mischievous gleam appearing in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding, I would give anything to see you wrecked, falling apart on my tongue.” 

Dean gaped, cheeks burning as Castiel smirked. “Fuck,” he choked out a laugh, pulling Cas in for a rushed kiss. “Some heavenly servant you are!” 

Cas grabbed his hand with a carefree grin, and flew them to the Impala outside, landing just beside Sam where he leaned against the trunk. 

“You’re in the back, Sammy,” Dean said as he jumped in the driver’s side, Cas right beside him, and he threw Sam a cocky two-fingered salute as he sprawled out moodily across the backseat. 

“You know we can probably never come back to Kentucky now, right?” Sam grumbled behind him, and Dean tipped his head back as he laughed. 

This was where he was meant to be; his bitchfaced brother in the back and his angel riding shotgun, the odds against them, but a whole world of possibilities ahead. Cas’ fingers twined with his own on the seat, and with a smile, he cranked the radio, and fired up Baby’s ignition. 

With a squeeze of Cas’ hand and a wink, Dean pulled out onto the highway.

“Eh, it was never that great anyways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I really hoped you've enjoyed yourself! I can never thank you enough — all of your comments, kudos, subscriptions and support mean the world to me. 
> 
> This will be the first instalment in a two-part series, to be followed by a Sabriel fic, so if that's a pairing you're interested in then please subscribe and stick around, I'd love to have you! If Sabriel's not your thing, I also have lots of Destiel fics in the works, so hopefully I'll see you all around soon.
> 
> You've been the greatest, really <3


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